


Lance's Bedroom

by bananamelon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Earth, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, IM TRYING NOT TO INCLUDE ANGST BUT IDK MAN, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot, Short & Sweet, fluff & lots of love, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-18 12:19:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15485598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamelon/pseuds/bananamelon
Summary: Lance isn’t quick to respond, but Keith waits.“Yes.” The words are breathed out of him like relief. Like a prayer.Somewhere in the world is a child’s birthday party, a wedding, someone experiencing their first kiss. But right here, there’s Lance and Keith, standing a couple yards away, unbelievably closer than ever. Closer than best friends.A series of short chapters that follow Keith and Lance, childhood friends, and the memories they make together in Lance's bedroom.





	1. Quiet

Mostly, it’s quiet.

The sound of the ceiling fan is quiet; a soft whirring that fills the room. A couple cars pass on the distant road. Downstairs, the TV is on, playing a channel in a language only one of the boys can understand. Other than that, it’s quiet.

The bedroom is dimly lit by the leftover light seeping through the window blinds. The sun has already set, and now the sky is a hazy candlelight, slowly transition from blue to purple. On the floor, there’s piles of discarded clothes, a book, a couple action figures. Family photos hang on the walls beside old art projects, their crayon colors faded with age. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Lance finally speaks, breaking the silence.

The boy stares at the back of his friend’s neck, his eyes fixated on pieces of black hair that flutter under the ceiling fan’s breeze. Lance knows Keith’s brooding about something, and even though they’re together, he still decides to deal with his thoughts alone, suffering in silence. Lance waits. He doesn’t want to wait—he wants to pull his friend into a hug and coax the words out of him—but he knows that any sudden movement and Keith will leave. So he waits.

It was Keith who approached Lance first earlier in the evening. He appeared at the McClain family’s doorstep, wistful and a little dirty. Lance spotted him from the kitchen table, past his mother’s body who greeted him at the door, unsure if his eyes were betraying him. Keith looked him in the eye. Lance understood and brought him upstairs, excusing himself from the dinner table.

Lance had always been Keith’s safe haven, in a way; his sun, his comfort. During school, when Keith would get into fights, it was Lance who took him to the infirmary. Lance, who told him kind things and tended to his wounds when the nurse was out. Lance, who waited patiently for Keith to tell him what was wrong, even when the silence was eating at him.

“Got in a fight.” A hushed voice that dissipates into the air. Lance wasn’t sure if he heard correctly, but his inquiries are confirmed when Keith suddenly rolls over, finally showing his face. It’s cross, but not wickedly so.

“A fight?” Lance resonates, moving Keith’s hair out of his face with a gentle hand, tucking pieces behind his friend’s ear.

“With your dad?” Lance continues knowingly, his voice dropping into a near whisper. Keith can only nod.

Keith’s relationship with his dad wasn’t terrible. They were very close, and Lance had always known Mr. Kogane to be a friendly man, showering affection upon his wife and son. Keith could confirm this. Even so, as he was approaching his teenage years, things had to change in his life, and he felt that his dad just didn’t understand that. Before he knew it, they were fighting became a frequent thing. Running away to Lance’s house had also become common.

“It wasn’t… bad, right?” Lance daringly asks. Keith shakes his head.

“No, not bad. But... but still!” Suddenly, the boy bolts upright in a fit of anger, clenches his hands into fists. Lance is quick to react and does the same, engulfs his friend into a tight embrace. He’s frowning, pained from seeing Keith unhappy, especially with his own father. Lance was a family boy, always surrounded by his parade of relatives, and he began to notice the cons of that. But Keith, his beloved Keith, didn’t have that privilege. It was just his parents and his dog living in their small house. No cousins, no aunties, no nephews. Just them and the vast space that exists because there’s no one else to fill it.

Lance felt Keith droop in his arms, his tense muscle softening.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and returns Lance’s hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Lance corrects, pulling away just enough to look his friend in the eyes, foreheads barely touching. “Save it for your dad. I’m sure he’s worrying just as much as you, buddy. He’s probably wondering where you are right now!” Lance huffs, pretending to be angry as he pinches Keith’s nose between his fingers.

“He knows I’m here,” Keith snorts, voice nasaled as he yanks his nose away. “I’m always here.”

“Yeah, always interrupting my meals!” Lance jumps up and darts for Keith’s sides, mercilessly tickling with feathery fingers. “And my sleep! And my games!”

Keith topples onto his back, laughing uncontrollably, thrashing with hands and feet in attempt to drive his friend off of him. And then they’re both laughing, hands grasping for one another, pushing and pulling and holding and living.

Their laughter is louder than the ceiling fan, the passing cars, and the Spanish TV all at once. It soaks through the walls and rings in the cool nighttime air, leaks out the open window to greet the nearby neighbors. It fabricates in the dark room as pure happiness. Pure happiness.

It is no longer quiet.


	2. Glow In The Dark Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets his first facial scar.

When Keith got his first scar, he promised himself that Lance would be the first to see it.

It’s a mighty thing—started as a bloody gash that stretched from just under his eye to the sick of his neck, curving in a cresent shape. Naturally, it was painful as all hell when he got it, but after properly examining the damage he took, Keith knew it’s the ideal enhancement to his growing masculinity.

Upon arriving home after the incident, his mother was _not_ happy, to say the least. She pressed for the name of the person who hurt her son, threatening to kiss their ass herself if need be. Keith’s father, on the other hand, took it a little lighter; let him off with a short lecture. Once getting special treatment for his wound, he decided to stay home for a few days, allowing the blood to dry and begin to scab over. His parents didn’t object.

Now, it’s well into the night, and Keith is riding his bike to Lance’s house. He was anxious to share the exciting news to his best friend.

Lance, however, wouldn’t be too thrilled. When Keith knocked on the front door, conviniently, it was Lance who answered, a variety of sheet mask plastered on his face. Only a small glow coming from the refridgerator illuminated the kitchen in contrast to the pitch-black living room behind it. Lance looked like a ghost.

“Whoa, hey, La—”

“Keith?!”

The raven-haired boy jumps at the sudden shout. “Y-Yeah, hi, it’s m—”

“Keith, oh my God, where have you _been?!_ You didn’t come to school for _days!_ Whatever, just come inside for now. Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Lance babbles, giving Keith no time to interject. Before he knew it, he’s being dragged up the familiar climb of carpeted stairs he found himself missing.

“Yeah, sorry about that, by the way. It’s just— man, how do I say this? I got a—”

“A scar?!” Lance shrieks. In his lamp-lit bedroom, he can finally get a good look at his friend’s face, eyes bulging out of his head at the sight of a nasty dark-red mark that covers most of Keith’s cheek.

Keith rubs the back of his neck, flustered. “Y-Yeah! That’s what I’ve been trying to say! I got into a fight, see, a-and came out with this scar! It’s kinda cool, right?”

Getting a good read of his friend’s expression, Keith’s smile drops. Lance’s eyes are filled with a mixture of horror, confusion, and anger, and it hits Keith right in the heart.

“Keith,” Lance whispers, taking a step forward. “You got into another fight?” He brings a hand up to hover over Keith’s cheek, resting his fingers just above the outline of the scar. Keith winces at the warm touch.

“I-It’s not…” is what he wants to say, but knows very well that it’s important to Lance. It’s always been important to Lance, more than it will ever be to Keith. He knew this, but still gets upset when he realized that Lance couldn’t reciprocate his excitement.

“It’s not that bad,” he says instead, placing his own hand to cover Lance’s. “It- It doesn’t even hurt that much. It’s healed mostly, see? It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad enough,” Lance frowns, holding his ground. He leads Keith to the bed and sits first, peeling off his sheet mask before delicately setting it on the nightstand temporarily. His face is coated in a shiny layer of essence, which he gently begins to rub in.

“Tell me about it,” Lance states.

“About… the scar?”

“About the fight.” His voice is stern as he speaks, seemingly a completely different person from his usual humorous dispotion. Lance looks up to meet Keith’s gaze, who finds himself frowning as well.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Keith mutters, averting his eyes. “It’s just— I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Shiro and I were talking and then we both got angry at something I can’t remember and he—”

“Wait, Shiro?” The other inquires, a look of confusion flashing over his face. “Shiro as in, your neighbor Shiro?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“But I thought you guys were, y’know, best buds?” Lance moves a bit closer to his friend, expression softening. The question didn’t come out naturally. After all, he’s Keith’s best bud. Truthfully, Lance never knew Shiro to be a bad guy from the few times their encountered each other. For all he knew, Shiro was like the big brother Keith needed in his life.

“Uh, yeah, we are. Or, were, I guess.” Keith scratches the back of his neck and lets out a heavy sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know anymore.”

Lance purses his lips together, wanting nothing more than to comfort his friend in this moment. He makes a decision, swings an arm over Keith’s shoulders and pulls him close, exhaling like it was a chore.

“Oh, Keith,” he hums, beginning to rock the boy side to side. “My sweet, sweet Keith, who knows nothing about human interaction other than getting his ass kicked. My young and naive Keith, who shows up to my doorstep, tears in his eyes, begging to be consoled—”

“Hey!” Keith exclaims, punching Lance in the thigh. They both laugh, and Keith lets himself fall into Lance’s arms, his head daring to droop onto his friend’s shoulder. Lance pulls the both of them down on the bed, and they stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that stick on the ceiling. The stars were a gift from Keith’s dad when he was in the 1st grade, but the boy decided to give it to his best friend instead, who never took them down since.

“You’re an idiot,” Lance breaths, finally catching his breath.

“You’re a bigger one,” Keith chuckles. _I’m your idiot,_ he could have said—he _should_ have said. What left his mouth would suffice enough. Keith swallows a lump in his throat and let his breathing slow, eyes fixated on the green stars that hung above him. They're so close, he felt he could touch them.

He shifts his eyes to Lance’s face, who is also gazing at the stares with his signature romantic look he’ll wear from time to time. It looked good on him, Keith decided.


	3. The World Silences Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freshman year of high school. Lance confronts a stoned Keith. They share their first _first_.

The first quarter of freshman year wasn’t quiet going like how Lance expected it to. In his middle school mind, he imagined new friends, new achievements, and new hot girls to flirt with. Instead, he was promptly greeted with strict dress codes, terminologies he had never heard of, and social groups who didn’t readily accept a new person into their circle. It’s rough, but not impossible, Lance understands this. His high school journey would only get worse if he doesn’t learn how to cope with it now.

Lance goes home right after school, not bothering to announce his arrival as he makes a beeline for his bedroom. Once he gets inside, his bag is flung to the floor without a single care as Lance jumps onto his bed, face buried in his pillows. He wants to sleep forever and never wake up, not the anyone; not for world.

A vibrating pulse in Lance’s pocket interrupts his brooding. With a grunt, he pulls out his phone from his jeans pocket. It’s a text from Keith.

_hey, sorry ididnt walk home witj u today. r u home?_

Lance flips on his back and quickly replies: _no problem. lmk when u get here >:)_

He takes note of the mispellings, which is uncommon for Keith unless he’s consciously rushing himself. Another vibration.

_im alreaddy here lol_

Lance bolts up from his bed and crawls to his window, separating the blinds with a loud rattle. Sure enough, there’s his friend, standing in his yard, waving a lazy arm up toward Lance’s room on the second floor. He huffs through flared nostrils and swings himself off of the bed, running down the stairs.

“Keith!” Lance exclaims as he opens the door. “Dude, you should’ve texted, I don’t know, _beforehand?_ How long have you been standing out there?” He lets Keith inside and closes the door with a quiet click. Keith drops his bag beside the kitchen counter and lets out an airy chuckle.

“Uh, I dunno, a while, I guess? Thought I lost my phone for a sec but it was in my pocket the whole time. Haha.” Keith grabs a cup from one of the cupboards and fills it with tap water. Lance is quick to pick up the lack of inflection in the other’s voice, how he draws out his words, the forced laugh at the end seeming out of place.

“You could’ve just knocked,” Lance sighs, resting his elbow on the counter.

“Oh, uh,” Keith panicks, “yeah. Forgot.” He quickly chugs down the water in one go like his throat has never known relief, mouth drawing back with a satisfied gasp, then goes to fill it up again.

 _“Forgot?”_ Lance questions. Something’s… off.

He approaches Keith at the sink, eyes squinting and nose scrunched like a search dog. Keith notices the intense stare and his eyes flicker for a moment, brain fizzes, and he drinks his water at a slower, more normal pace. He turns away, fingers gliding along the countertop as he drifts toward the pantry. And then Lance smells something.

“Hey, uh, got anything to eat? I’m starving,” Keith grunts.

“Keith, are you…” Lance leans in closer and his thoughts are confirmed. He stumbles back. “Are you _high?”_ Lance’s voice piques, momentarily forgetting that he’s in a house full of other people. Most of them, thankfully, are away. Keith just looks at him.

In a fit, Lance’s hand snatches at his friend’s wrist as he drags the other upstairs, not giving him time to put down his empty cup. Keith doesn’t protest as he stumbles up the stairs and into Lance’s bedroom, feeling a sudden wave of comfort at the familiar environment around him. He sits on the bed without being ushered, his movements robotic, and stares at nothingness on the floor.

“You’re high?” Lance reiterates after closing the door, quiter this time.

Keith’s chest shakes with a chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Dude, what the— what the _fuck?!”_ Lance isn’t entirely sure why he’s angry. After all, he knows that weed isn’t necessarily harmful, even if the effects included acting a little funny. Still, it wasn’t the smoking that offended Lance. He wasn’t raised around smokers, but wasn’t strongly against the idea, nor did he have any prejudice towars smokers. Bottom line: if it wasn’t his business, it didn’t bother him. With Keith, though, he felt it was his business.

“Talk to me, buddy,” Lance said, seating himself beside Keith. “When, where, who?”

“During film class. Bathroom in the science bulding. Some junior I had never seen in my life,” Keith answers without blinking, feeling proud that he’d responded coherently, keeping a hold on his train of thought.

“You really skipped class to get high? On campus?” Lance asks.

“I skipped class to skip class,” Keith corrects. “And ended up in the science building bathroom with a guy who was already stoned. He offered me a hit while he pissed and left me the bud. There was barely any left so it was fine. I’m fine.” Keith’s speech was a little choppy, like his brain had to manually calculate how to form proper sentences, piecing them together, one word in front of the other.

He looks over to Lance, who has been listening with his mouth ajar, unsure of how to respond. They stare at each other for a long moment, both of them trying to pull a serious face to fit the situation. They broke easily.

Lance doubles over first, spilling sudden laughter that instantly lights up the mood, and Keith can’t help but join in. He sputters a bit before exhaling breathy chuckles, falling back on the bed. Lance falls beside him, and just they gaze at each other like that, hair falling in their faces, smiles never leaving their lips.

“Man, you gotta stop coming to me with all this _baggage,”_ Lance teases, jabs his fingers into Keith’s gut like daggers. “I can’t handle all this stress you’re giving me! Your presence alone is giving me acne.”

Keith can only laugh in response, his breath escaping him softly like his lungs need the air. He understands that it’s only with Lance does his truly let himself go.

“You like me,” Keith grins wide. “And all my baggage.”

Lance isn’t sure how to respond at first. His eyes scan the young face before him—dark pupils, a slightly upturned nose, skin that pales in comparison to his own. Lance swallows. The silence lingers for a little too long, but it’s comfortable enough to sit in.

“You, uh,” Lance clears his throat. “You tell me next time, okay? I-If there is a next time, I mean. Like, text me first or something. So I know.” He’s flustered as he stammers for the right words that aren’t quite there, averting his gaze to something behind Keith.

“Why? Wanna join?” A sneer spreads across Keith’s face.

“That’s not what I mean!” Lance is quick to defend. “W-What I mean is—” he cuts himself off and sucks in a hushed breath, his expresson shifting the slightest bit. He understands why he had gotten so angry. It was sinking in that Lance hadn’t entirely come to terms with the fact that there were parts of Keith’s life that Lance wasn’t included in. He understood this before, of course, and had never gotten offended when he didn’t have first row seats to every aspect of his best friend’s existence. Lance had never felt so selfish. Not like today.

“What you mean is…?” Keith trails, moving closer to Lance’s face. He examines the boy before him, the little nuances in his body as he tensed. The way his bangs had grown over the summer and was now long enough to reach his eyebrows. The crimson on Lance’s cheeks; the way his blue eyes flickered for something to look at—something over than him. Keith soon propped himself on his elbow, so incredibly close to Lance that his black hair could brush against the other, his scent having the potential to rub off onto him.

“W-What I mean…” Lance’s words drop off again, his brain becoming pure froth, mouth left hanging open as if the words could dance right past his lips.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” Keith teases, a lazy smirk tugging at the end of his lips. His dark eyes gleam to Lance’s lips, then back up to his eyes. Lance notices this. They both instinctively lean in. Time stops. The world silences itself.

Keith is the one who presses his lips onto Lance’s. It’s a soft, feathery touch, that could easily be passed off for a breeze. Except the window is closed and Lance’s eyes are open—he witnesses it himself, feels Keith’s warmth meeting with his own. It only lasts for four seconds, and they immediately become the longest four seconds of Lance’s life, and the world comes rushing back to him like a hot gust of wind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Keith whispers, his composed expression faltering into something that almost looks like heartbreak. Lance doesn’t acknowledge the look of disbelief plastered on his own face, frozen like a statue.

“It’s not the weed?” Lance finally speaks.

Keith laughs, his head falling onto Lance’s shoulder. “No, Lance. It’s definitely not the weed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i include new tags? e.g., recreational drug use. :?
> 
> even tho lance is the Supreme Meme, i always had a feeling that keith would be the one who tries weed (first). i think lance would transition from shocked, to curious, to not caring all that much, but i wasn't able to capture that ;( i also want to write more about lance and his own struggles, since he's always the one who comforts others. stay tuned for the next chapter for more plot! ;3c


	4. To Make Room for More Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It’s fine, it’s fine, life goes on,_ he reminded himself, his own words echoing in his hollow head. Life goes on but it stopped for Lance, holding him hostage inside a body that didn’t know how to mourn, so he settled to with it instead."

Once junior year rolls around, Lance gets the hang of his high school life. He makes a couple of close friends: Hunk, who has a talent for baking, and Katie—alias: “Pidge”—who’s wicked with computer tech. They spend whatever time they can together, and soon, it’s like they’re never seen apart. Lance introduces them to Keith, naturally, who was welcomed warmly into their friend group. _It’s what he needs,_ Lance thinks to himself, unaware of the fond smile he wears when he watches Keith joke around with his other two comrades.

Although Lance has found a comfortable happiness, high school has not gotten any easier for him. He was blessed with a girlfriend or two, of which he courted beautifully, but they each lasted for a few months before fizzing out like old soda. Things don’t always work out, Lance knew, and he wished he could move on faster; wished he could just stop feeling sorry for himself. It was pathetic, really.

It’s alright, Lance began to convince himself, as heartbroken as he is. It’s all part of life. People come and people leave, and when they go, they will sometimes take a piece of you with them. Lance learned it first-handed. _It’s fine, it’s fine, life goes on,_ he reminded himself, his own words echoing in his hollow head. Life goes on but it stopped for Lance, holding him hostage inside a body that didn’t know how to mourn, so he settled to with it instead. Emptied himself to make room for more emptiness, and the sticky beating of his swollen heart.

Of course, a couple painful heartbreaks would never triumph over Lance McClain, the natural lover boy, sweet and awkward and charming all in one. A true package.

Junior prom. That’s his chance, Lance decides. He put a band-aid over the cracks in his rib cage and gathers enough courage to ask the cute girl in his Algebra 2 class to be his date. He’s had his eyes on her for a while—a beauty with black hair and sharp eyes and a tiny scar just above her upper lip. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything spectacular, but it was hope.

Much to his surprise, she said yes.

Lance was absolutely ecstatic when he got his reply, trying not to jump for joy in front of his new prom date. He thanked her, shaken up by nerves, and she laughed. His heart began to beat again. Lance made it apparent to talk to her more often in class, get to know her a little better. She invited him to eat lunch with her every now and then, and he proudly excused himself from his seat next to Hunk, walking to a distant table like a champion.

Now, it’s prom night, but Lance isn’t nearly as thrilled as he was a couple weeks ago. He dresses himself in a neatly-pressed tux that his mom had tailored for him herself, proud to see her son living up his high school experience like he was meant to. The first twenty minutes pass and Lance doesn’t show. Then an hour passes, and still, Keith can’t find his best friend’s face among the sea of his classmates.

“Where’s Lance?” Pidge shouts over the loud music, nudging Keith’s side. They’re both dressed in black tuxedos, fitted and classy. “Didn’t he say he’d meet us here?”

“I don’t know,” Keith responds, eyes flashing desperately above heads and shoulders. “I don’t— ugh, he’s not replying to his texts. I don’t know!”

And Keith’s gone. He sneaks out of the crowded gym, making his way to the bathroom to get back the teacher’s, then bolts for the parking lot. He takes the long way to avoid being spotted by any adult that might be lurking nearby. Hunk was the one who drove him and Pidge to the dance, so with no means of his own transporation, Keith makes it to the main road and waits at the nearest bus stop.

After the bus ride that takes longer than he had patience for, Keith finds himself jogging to Lance’s house. He sees the living room lights are on, but the second floor is dark. A few loud, frantic knocks on the door. Lance’s mom answers.

“Oh, Keith, _mi cariño!”_ She’s shocked to see him, panting and damp in sweat under his tux, his hair breaking apart under its gel and falling to his face.

“Is Lance home?” Keith asks breathlessly without a hint of hesitation. 

He notices Mrs. McClain’s expression sag. “Er, y-yes, but—”

Keith doesn’t wait for her to finish. He brushes through the open door and darts for the stairs, knowing it might’ve been rude to ignore the woman, but not exactly having the capacity in his mind to worry about it. He doesn’t see her reach her hand to stop him.

Lance’s bedroom door is closed. Keith doesn’t knock. He goes to twist the doorknob but finds it to be locked. Shakes it a little, as if it would change anything. His fist comes down on the door.

“Lance, please,” Keith pleads. “I know you’re in there. Open up, I want to talk to you.”

Silence. For a moment, he doubts if Lance can hear him, but if he knew anything about his best friend, it’s that he _always_ hears him. Keith knocks, tries the doorknob again. Nothing. He feels like there’s a plastic bag around his head, isolating his efforts from reaching Lance. He knocks again and doesn’t stop this time, his forehead falling forward onto the wood.

When it finally opens, Keith almost stumbles inside. The bedroom is dark and musty, but with the hallway light suddenly pouring in, he can make out the puffy features on Lance’s face. He’s dressed in his mother’s tux, just like he boasted he would be the day before.

“She blew me off,” is the first thing that leaves Lance’s mouth. And then a pathetic laugh, and he’s wiping his eyes with his knuckles. Something in Keith’s chest trembles. 

“Lance,” he starts, reaches a hand out to his friend. Lance brushes it away, sniffles, and returns to sit on his bed, leaving the door open.

“Don’t,” he mutters under his breath, Keith taking note of how nasaled he sounds. The bewildered boy steps inside cautiously like he’s walking on landmines. He lowers himself onto the bed gently beside Lance, who doesn’t meet his gaze, even if he had feel Keith’s eyes boring into the side of his head. He just sniffles, wipes his nose, rubs his eyes, and repeats.

Keith doesn’t know if he trusts himself to be tame at a time like this. His instincts tell him to pry for who hurt him so he can hunt this person down himself—probably something he inherited from his mother. Instead, his fists clutch as his pants in restraint, and he leans a little closer. Slow, mellow, like approaching a deer.

“You’re okay, man,” Keith whispers, feeling his own bottom lip beginning to stick out.

“No, I’m not!” Lance suddenly exclaims, throwing his arms down from his face. “For once in my life, I can admit that I’m not okay, and it— it _sucks!_ Everything sucks!” He’s bawling again, not dramatically, but it’s enough to send Keith’s heart into his gut.

Lance wipes his nose with a rough hand. “It sucks because I was stupid enough to try again, y’know? Give myself another shot because, _fuck,_ I don’t know, I thought I _deserved it,_ I guess?” He’s angry, near shouting, and uses his messily blazer to wipe his face.

“You do,” Keith whispers, and he means it. It goes unacknowledged by Lance.

“It’s just— _ugh,_ it’s just that I don’t want to let this ruin me, but it’s so, so hard to pretend like it’s easy to move on when it’s not! Like, it takes so much energy to recover and when I’m finally able to carry my own weight again, I do stupid shit that gets me hurt and then I’m back at square-fucking-one, and I’m so _sick_ of this same fucking routine!”

Lance falls back onto the bed, taking a deep breath as two hot tears leak from his eyes, down the side of his face to kiss his ears. He covers his eyes with his arm, chest quivering. “I’m sick of myself,” he mutters, lips pursing into a taut frown, jaw clenching. Keith knows the face he’s making under the sheild of his arm, knows that it just might be a metaphor for how Lance deals with his pain around other people. He knows this and hates that he does.

Keith moves as close as can and lifts Lance’s arm out of the way, revealing puffy eyes that can barely fully open themselves. He wipes his friend’s sticky cheeks with the back of his hand, fingers combing damp hair out of Lance’s face. Keith’s brain absorbs the sight like a sponge.

“It’s not stupid to try again,” Keith finds himself saying. “And getting hurt won’t ruin you. The healing process is hard, but you pull through every time.” He swallows a lump in his throat, his fingers scratching at Lance’s scalp tenderly. “Loving people and appreciating them for their worth is what you’re good at, Lance. There’s no one who knows love like you do, a-and this is _not_ when you’re throwing in your towel, okay? It’s not.”

Lance listens to his friend’s words in silence and takes them to heart. He pinches his nose to catch some dripping snot, promptly wiping it on his shirt. His blue eyes scan over Keith’s face, which is hovering above his own, oberserving Lance in return. Keith speaks like he’s telling a story; like it really means something to him. His voice is genuine and tender, the firm look in his dark eyes bring Lance back down to earth. He remembers where he is—in his bedroom, safe under Keith’s hands. Something shifts inside his gut.

“It’s not a permanent scar,” Keith whispers, brushing his hand over Lance’s forehead to push his bangs back, letting them fall back into place with gravity. “It’s just a brusie. Just a bruise.”

The atmosphere makes Lance reminisce about one day back in Freshman year that, thinking back to now, feels like a distant dream he sometimes questions if it really happened. The day they kissed. The first and last time, to be exact. Shortly after that time, overwhelmed with unbearable tension whenever the two were together, they came to an agreement they would put it beind them and remain friends. Just like that, Lance locked away the memory somewhere deep in his mind that his couldn’t reach, until it all comes rushing back, right in this moment.

Lance reaches a curious hand to cup Keith’s cheek, who readily accepts the touch. They stare at each other and it feels like the earth has stopped moving. They forget about prom, forget about their ironed and expensive suits, forget about personal space.

“It’s… not their absence that hurts,” Lance says, gently breaking the silence. “It’s how they can leave so easily.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Keith is quick to respond, his hand overlapping with Lance’s, holding it in place. The warmth of his face proves to Lance that he’s real; that they’re both alive and living as best friends. _Best friends._ The words play on repeat in Lance’s brain.

He doesn’t remember when he stopped crying, or what time of the night it is. All he remembers is Keith and Keith’s hand and Keith on the day they kissed. He can’t stop thinking about the kiss.


	5. It's Not a Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the last chapter. The big question is finally asked, and subsequently, answered.

It’s the morning after Junior prom.

The prom that Lance didn’t go to, and Keith didn’t stay for. The prom that Pidge and Hunk partied hard at, raiding the snacks table and bumping to blaring music. In a school-friendly manner, of course.

The prom which initially could have been Lance’s highlight of his high school career, but eneded up doing a total 180 that caused him a great deal of heartache. Drenched in melancholy and snot, he was encouraged back to stability by Keith, who decided to stay the night. The prom that seemed completely irrelevant to two boys, chatting it up to the heavens in a cozy bedroom, stargazing under glow-in-the-dark plastic.

Keith is the first to wake up, expectedly. His eyelids warily crack open, unprepared for the thin slices of sunlight that leak through the blinds. He shifts his head on the pillow, squinting at his surroundings to access where he is.

The dark blue comforter and family photos hung on pale walls immediately tell him he’s in Lance’s house. Also, Lance himself, who’s laying at Keith’s side, curled into a serene as he sleeps quietly. The mucus in his sinuses leaves him breathing noisily. They’re both still in last night’s attire, having shed blazers and belts and socks overnight. Keith’s clothes are piled at the end of the bed, wrinkled. He shifts to he can grab them, pacing himself to a sloth’s, trying his best not to wake Lance. It’s futile.

Lance shifts with a deep inhale, rolls onto his back and rubs his eyes before blinking them open. They land on Keith first, who is outstretched at his feet.

“Morning,” he says. Lance lets out an acknowledging hum in reply, curving into a stretch, his spine letting out a few pops. “Ooh, nice,” Keith lauds.

“What time is it?” Lance asks rhetorically in an awfully hoarse voice, sitting up as he pats the bed for his phone that must be somewhere under the covers. He finds it, finally, under his pillow. “6:48,” he answers his own question.

“Sleep some more,” Keith insists, swinging his legs off the bed. “Is it okay if I shower? And, uh, borrow some of your clothes, too?”

“Hm, I don’t know if I have clothes big enough to stretch over those _huge muscles,_ big boy,” Lance coos, heightening his voice to a mocking pitch as Keith is unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a toned back that was not bad _at all_ for an average high school student.

Keith chokes on gruff laughter and shoots Lance a sharp glare. “Oh, then I guess I’ll have to ask your nephew for _his_ clothes, hm, skinny boy?” Keith sneers as he casually folds his clothes into good-enough squares, setting them down near the doorway to pick up later. He disappears into the bathroom, the triumphant smirk never leaving his face.

“Hey!” is all Lance can shout, unable to think of a comeback quick enough. He hears Keith laugh from the other side of the closed door, followed by the sound of water splashing from the showerhead. He doesn’t think he’ll be falling back asleep anytime soon, despite his friend’s suggestion. Lance falls back onto his bed once again, defeated.

It’s a calm morning, Lance observes after opening the blinds just enough to let some sunlight in. The sun is out, but no tortuously so, allowing the sleepy neighborhood to enjoy the cool temperature of the early morning. There are no cars passing by on the road, no choir of birds perched on tree branches. Even his loud family, surprisingly, isn’t making a ruckus. Lance breaths in the tranquility and drifts away into his thoughts.

He replays last night’s events and his gut drops, feeling a wave of regret consume him for having a breakdown in front of someone else, even if it was his most trusted friend. Lance, sobered up, tries to think about the good things that came out of it, like how he got to see another side of Keith he never witnessed before. Thinking about it, Lance never heard one “I’m sorry” from him last night, not like how he expected him to react. It made Lance feel like he, perhaps, _wasn’t_ a pitiful thing, sobbing in all his self-loathing. Made him feel a little more comfortable with himself.

It’s not a funeral, Lance came to understand. He’s not mourning the death of the “could have beens,” the “should have beens.” He’s only a boy who knows how to love with all he’s got, and it won’t always work out for him, but it’s more worth it to find a love to live for rather than a love to die for. And sometimes, it might not even be a love that he has to look for; maybe, it will look for him instead. Maybe he will stumble upon it accidentally, like the corner of a treasure chest buried in the sand. Maybe it’s already found him. Maybe it’s in his house, right now.

Lance is startled out of his thoughts by the click of a door. His eyes dart to Keith, who steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and another to dry his hair, a cloud of steam exiting with him. Lance, awake now, can only stare helplessly at the outline of muscles, the broad shoulders, the collarbones. He stares and he doesn’t look away. He hadn’t even heard the water turn off.

“Got any clothes?” Keith asks, ruffling his hair with the towel. He makes his way to Lance’s dresser, anyway, where he’s already memorized how his friend’s clothes are organized. He doesn’t immediately notice that Lance doesn’t respond as he opens and closes drawers, picking out articles of clothing and holding them up to his body.

Lance’s breath returns to him like he’s snapped out of a trance. “Underwear too?” He asks jokingly, not quite sure where on Keith’s body he should rest his eyes.

On cue, with a loud snicker, Keith pulls out a pair of white boxers decorated with tiny, cartoon guns and handcuffs. “Ooh,” he baits, shaking them in front of his face for Lance to see. “Are these your _big boy_ undies, Lance?”

Lance, absolutely crimson, lunges for the boxers, but Keith is quick. He holds it high above his head, quickly redirecting his arm every time Lance jumps for it.

“Come on, Keith! Just put ‘em back!” The embarrassed boy complains.

“Or what,” Keith snorts. “You gonna— you gonna _arrest_ me, Officer?” He’s enjoying himself immensely, watching Lance struggle with ripe apple cheeks. More importantly, how Lance no longer looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his back. Keith finds himself smiling fondly, and lets his guard down just enough for Lance to snatch back his boxers. He tucks it to his chest like it’s precious to him before hurriedly stuffing it back into his underwear drawer.

“Asshole,” Lance mutters under his breath. He grabs a pair of black boxer briefs and tosses it carelessly at Keith, who catches it readily like a football. Lance, worn out his the exercise, flops back on his bed, bouncing up and down on the springs a few times. He contemplates if he should shower next, before the rest of his family wakes up.

Keith, having no social manners or any goddamn _decency,_ lets the towel around his waist drop to the ground as he slides his feet into the briefs he was given. Curious about the noise, Lance looks over and his face becomes lava. Thankfully, Keith is turned away from him, but the surprise causes him to nearly goes into cardiac arrest. His head whips in the opposite direction, heart thumping hard against his rib cage, the image of Keith’s ass unwillingly engraved into his mind.

“You checking me out?” Keith teases, glancing over his shoulder after noticing his friend was being awfully quiet. For a moment, he thinks Lance has fallen asleep again, but the red in his ears is a dead give away. No way. Keith’s eyes widen. His feed carry him toward the bed.

“Hey,” He nudges Lance’s head with his knuckles. Though hesitant, Lance slowly turns his head, deliberate not to let his eyes fall to Keith’s lower body. He’s wearing shorts now, thank God, but his young heart continued to pound. Keith sits on the bed, tilts his head slightly so his line of vision is aligned with Lance’s. “Lookin’ a little red there, buddy.”

Lance’s lips purse into a frown, his chest feeling like it could cave in any second now. He’s unable to pull his gaze away from Keith’s, trapped under a scope to be examined like he’s something interesting.

Keith leans in, keeps leaning under droplets of water from his hair falls onto Lance’s face. Lance panicks; he can smell his shampoo off of Keith, and it excites him. They’re so close, and again, everything is flooding back to him—last night and two years ago and they’re first sleepover and the first time Lance stopped Keith’s fight and everything, all at once, is here, here, here. It’s here and it’s also everywhere, wherever Lance’s eyes dart to, it’s all Keith. The indescribable feeling is overwhelming; his hands reflexing push at Keith’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. Lance doesn’t realize he’s panting, or the look on his face like he’d died, but Keith does. He also notices the tremble in Lance’s fingers and the red that spreads over the bridge of his nose.

“I—” Lance gawks, desperately searching for something— _anything_ to say. The words don’t come to him.

“It’s fine,” Keith says, and repositions himself upright again. His legs are off the bed, elbows on his knees, looking at nothing. He sighs. Keith’s heart is racing. It startles him at first—how he almost did something stupid again. He runs his thumbs together, becoming white under the pressure. His chest aches.

“Keith,” Lance sits up. “No, I mean, I just—”

“It’s fine,” Keith repeats, a little louder this time. He gets off the bed and quietly slips on Lance’s shirt. “I’ll call you later, yeah?” As calmly as possible, Keith scoops up his pile of clothes on the floor, tucking it under his arm as he goes to leave the room.

“I don’t want to use you as a rebound!” Lance blurts. There’s a white silence. It feels like ringing in his ears, like an alarm going off somewhere inside him. He swallows the dryness in his throat and dares himself to anticipate an answer.

Keith turns his head to Lance, who’s hands grip the edge of the bed like it could snap, face stricken with something that looks like fear. “Do you love me?” He boldly asks.

Finally. He’s said it. The words really left his mouth, and they’re floating now, hanging thick in the air like clouds. Keith could have said a million others things, like _was I ever your first choice?,_ or _I can be whatever you want me to be,_ or _just forget about it,_ but he chooses the most pressing question of them all; the one they’ve both been avoiding for years.

Lance isn’t quick to respond, but Keith waits.

“Yes.” The words are breathed out of him like relief. Like a prayer.

Somewhere in the world is a child’s birthday party, a wedding, someone experiencing their first kiss. But right here, there’s Lance and Keith, standing a couple yards away, unbelievably closer than ever. Closer than best friends.

Keith smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love reading everyone's comments, thank u for the support (´ ；ω ；`)


	6. The Fact that He's Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith search for warmth within each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᴜ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʰᵃʰ

They go slow, the two of them. Take things as they come. Work out the questions and the misconceptions and allow everything else to unfold. They reveal and discover, not only about the other, but about themselves as well. The universe is kind to them in this time. Days pass and there is no crunch for answers, no ticking time bomb of uncertainty. It’s just two boys who are learning about the things school never taught them, tucked away in what became their special headquarters.

In Lance’s bedroom.

“Man, what gives?” Lance sighs, removing his shoes in the front entrance. They’re soaked through and through, thickly coated with mud, making a squelching sound as he steps out of them.

Keith, close behind, does the same. “Came out of nowhere,” he speculates, running his fingers through his dripping hair.

The house is quiet; no children racing around, and no mother to throw then towels like the past rainy days they got caught in. Instead, they are greeted with silence, a distant bolt of lightning glaring through the living room windows. The kitchen light is on, as always.

“Where did you say your family was again?” Keith asks, slowly peeling off his sopping layers of clothing that don’t budge easily, throwing them down on a condensced pile beside his shoes. Lance disappears down a hallway, soon returning with two towels. He tosses one to Keith, who’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, and begins to do the same.

“My parents took the kids to visit our family in Cuba for a week. Grandparents are on vacay,” Lance explains, his hands curving over his head as he pulls his shirt off his back. “And the rest? No idea. Doesn’t matter. Let’s just enjoy the emptiness while it lasts.”

Keith laughs and scoops up his dripping clothes to wring them out in the sink. He knows the drill for wet clothes on a rainy day; the motions fall into place like clockwork. He travels from sink to hallway, where the laundry room sinks at the end in darkness. Lance, now stripped to his underwear as well, wraps his arms around Keith’s torso from behind and pulls him into a tigh embrace. The unsuspecting Keith jumps, letting out a startled yelp.

“Jesus,” he exhales, catching the breath that was scared out of him. Keith’s skin crawls with the damp body pressed against his spine, chilled to the touch. “You’re freezing, Lance,” he mutters like he means to be gentle, loosening the grip around his waist so he can turn around.

“Warm me up, then,” Lance whispers with mischievousness in his voice, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. His hands grip Keith’s protruding hips to pull him impossibly close, wet skin on wet skin, eyes locked in a tense gaze. Keith’s fingers twitch as he trail up Lance’s arms, the light touch of his nails sending shivers down Lance’s spine, cold hands settling on the sides of the his neck.

Lance begins walking backwards before he gets a reply, a smile taking over him, leading Keith into the living room. He collapses onto the couch, pulling the other on top of him. Keith straddles his waist, slowly himself to press his chest on Lance’s. Lance is the one who initiates the kiss, one hand holding the back of Keith’s head, fingers weaving between clumbs of inky black hair. They don’t clash or collide, but rest on one another, smooth and velvety. For a minute or two. Lance sneakily slips his tongue on, glides it over Keith’s lips who can’t help but part them in response. And then the sound of their lips pushing and pulling, straved for each other, tongues seeking warmth in each other’s mouths.

Keith lifts his head just enough to see Lance’s face, half-lidded eyes darting across the beautiful features before him, allowing himself to soak up the scene. Lance’s dishelved hair sticks to his forehead and drips onto the pillows, hot breaths escaping him in pants, gazing back up at Keith with dreamy eyes. It’s a vulnerable moment for the both of them, so incredibly indulged in one another, unable to think about anything else.

Breaking the thick tension, Lance slides his hands into Keith’s briefs, cold palms kneading at his ass. Keith howls at the contact, but instinctively grinds against it, his jaw falling open.

“Right here?” Keith asks breathlessly. “On the couch?”

“Would you prefer a better setting, Your Highness?” Lance shoots back in a husky voice, his nose nuzzling into Keith’s skin, leaving audible kisses along his chin and cheek.

Keith swallows a grunt. “No,” he huffs, hoisting himself up to straddle the other once again. Before Lance can register it, suddenly, he’s watching the boy on top of him pull down his underwear. Keith’s already semi-hard cock springs forth, centimeters off Lance’s abdomen. The pinned-into-place boy can only watch, his hands snaking their way onto Keith’s thighs, fingers gripping the plush flesh.

“Fuck, mullet,” Lance chuckles, thumbing at pale skin.

With no subtlety whatsoever, Keith has one arm behind him, his other pressed against Lance’s chest for balance. “I thought we agreed to leave that nickname back in middle school?”

He circles his own hole with a frigid finger, massaging the ring of muscle. Lance, too busy staring to think of a witty comeback, can’t see what’s happening, but gets an inkling when Keith gasps, followed by a string of hushed moans. Lance grinds his hips upward in search of getting a little slice of the action, his underwear becoming notably tighter.

There’s little time for foreplay. Even with the whole house to themselves, they’re eager for connection. Lance pulls himself out of his briefs and begins jerking his wrist, getting his cock slick and warm. Keith whimpers at the visual stimulation and his finger moves faster inside of him, stretching himself out nicely. When his movements aren’t as smooth as he’d like them to be with the lack of a lubricant, with a drawn out sigh, he removes his fingers.

“Lube,” he mutters, and Lance is quick to react. With a rush of adrenaline, he scoops Keith up in his arms, practically craddling the boy like a baby, and makes a beeline for the stairs. Keith has absolutely no time to react before he’s being huddled into a familiar bedroom and thrown on the bed. Lance, almost frantic now, snatches a blue bottle from his nightstand.

Keith can’t help but laugh at the sudden change of pace. He hides his face in his hands to muffle his laughter as his legs are spread apart.

“What?” Lance grunts, a condom dangling in between his teeth, dousing his fingers in clear liquid with gusto. A hand thumps down on the bed beside Keith’s head, bracketing him with no place to run, and nowhere else to look. With no warning, he feels a slick finger prod at his hole and reflexively tenses before unwinding his muscles. Keith bites his lip to conceal a moan.

“You look desperate,” he says instead, still managing to smile.

“I am,” Lance responds, the grit in his voice dyeing Keith’s cheeks red. “I just witnessed the man I love fuck himself on his fingers right in front of me. What’s a guy supposed to do?”

Keith sinks into the mattress as the words hit his ears, eyes fixating on Lance’s movements. The situation would have mortified him if he didn’t want it so much—didn’t want Lance so much. But he did, and it would certainly be the death of him, so he let everything unfold without causing a fuss.

Lance’s fingers are thorough, switching between slow and deep to quick and shallow, savoring the corresponding noises Keith makes. His blue eyes watch his lover affectionately, never taking his eyes off the boy, who quivers and mewls at his will.

“You know, Keith,” Lance starts, postioning himself at Keith’s entrance. “I never really pictured you to be so fragile underneath me like this.” He says it with a sneer, a smirk that turns him into the embodiment of dominance, and slides himself in gingerly.

“Well, I did,” Keith remarks through fits of panting. "I pictured it. _A lot."_ Something in Lance snaps.

“Oh, you are _asking_ for it now, mullet!”

Lance breaks in in one swift motion, a moan tearing through Keith’s throat. He hopes Keith has adjusted enough already, because his fervor is getting the best of him. He starts thrusting into at a slow pace, letting out a hiss through his teeth the first he pulls out, only to pound back in. Lance is careful to listen for any noises of pain.

“You alright, baby?” He asks, unable to conceal the worried expression his brows furrow into. Keith reassuringly lifts a hand to carress Lance’s cheek, running his thumb under his eye.

“I’m fine,” he breaths out. “Just— God, Lance, just move!”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Lance’s strong hands squeeze Keith’s hips to lift him a bit, meeting somewhere in the middle. In time with his groans, Lance fucks like there’s no tomorrow, indulging himself in the sight of Keith, who desperately grabs for the sheets to pull on. Lance redirects Keith’s hands to grab his shoulders instead. Their yearning quickly piques and they know they won’t last very long, staring deep into each other’s eyes, mouths parted as wails and moans and whines are released into the air.

The last thing Keith thinks of before his body caves in is this moment. The fact that he’s alive. That he is alive the same time as Lance, the cheeky kid who always has a pick-up line up his sleeve; the awkward teenager constantly cracking jokes. A Mama’s boy. Class clown. The handsome young man who devotes himself to Keith.

“I love you,” Keith blurts, his words hanging heavy in the sticky air, coming down from his high. Lance, wondering is he heard correctly, shoots him a mystified look. His eyes say _what the fuck just happened,_ but also, _I love you too. So, so much._

“I-I love you too!” Lance nearly screams, and suddenly he’s hovering over Keith again, the strength returning to his body in a heated rush. His heart is pumping, face burning, struggling to decide what part of Keith he’s supposed to look at.

“I know,” Keith grins. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is it! the ending was kind of rushed bc im running out of energy, sorry (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ㅂ˂̣̣̥)੭ i wonder if this is the end. i actually don't know, but thank you all for reading this far! this is my first "real writing," you could say, that i'm sharing with the public, so your encouraging words really mean a lot of me ♡ i didn't expect to so into it. i wonder what else i have up my sleeve?


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